


5 Thanksgivings Cordelia Chase Never Had

by xlivvielockex



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlivvielockex/pseuds/xlivvielockex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what the title says</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Thanksgivings Cordelia Chase Never Had

By the time the caterers arrive with the turkey and fixings, her mother has had so many gin and tonics, she goes upstairs complaining of a headache.

Her father never puts the phone down, shoveling forkfuls of mashed potatoes in his mouth between million dollar deals, never once spilling on his imported silk tie.

Cordelia doesn’t dare touch the biscuits. “No carbs!” Her mother had slurred as she stumbled up the stairs. She picks at her turkey, tearing off scraps to feed to her cat. He seems to be the only one giving thanks, rubbing against her leg, purring appreciatively.

\--------------------------------------------------------

She sits in a restaurant, alone, her mind wandering to Doyle in some bar, having a liquid dinner. The only reason they were off was because Angel was in Sunnydale, busy with something else - someone else. Angel didn’t know the meaning of the world ‘holiday.’ Her place didn’t feel like home; a meal from the freezer section didn’t feel like Thanksgiving.

As the waitress unceremoniously drops the plate in front of her with a clatter, Cordelia looks around to the few solo patrons, pulled in tight to keep the world and other people out. All together, and all alone. 

\------------------------------------

Nothing turns out right. Cordy burns the turkey, Fred’s cornbread is sticking to the pan, Wes’ mashed potatoes are lumpy. The table that was supposed to arrive from the rental place didn’t; neither did the chairs. They all have to stand and eat. Choice of dark meat or darker meat from the burnt bird, so dry it’s like eating tree bark. 

They'd wanted it to be perfect. Connor’s first Thanksgiving. Still a baby, so he doesn’t know, but Angel broods over the ruined meal. Gunn sneaks out the back. Twenty minutes later he’s back, bags of Chinese food in hand. 

\---------------------------------------------

She doesn’t know why they let her peer into his head. Maybe because nobody bothered to install cable on the higher plane. She gets to see them all in Angel’s mind, gathered around a table, happy and smiling. The wine was flowing free, the dinner out of a Norman Rockwell painting. That almost kiss. They all eat and drink with no hint of the betrayal, heartbreak or schism that divided them before. Then it all comes crashing down. 

She can never bear to watch the end, closing her eyes tight, hoping each time that it might change. It never does. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Time doesn’t matter up here. She thinks maybe three hundred years have passed; it might be five hundred, maybe a thousand. Cordy doesn’t even know if they still celebrate Thanksgiving down below. 

They don’t really here either but it’s tradition for them. There is a table, chairs, everyone is sitting around, laughing, talking, at last happy. The table is bigger, some faces barely familiar to her, others that she cherishes as family. 

Angel says he wants to freeze this moment, but he says that every time. Hands raised in a toast. At long last, Cordy feels like this is Thanksgiving.


End file.
